


Heartbeat To Remind Me

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Addams Family crossover, Family Secrets, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Spit it out, Stiles,” Derek says impatiently.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I can kind of heal myself.  Sometimes.”</i>
</p>
<p>A Teen Wolf/Addams Family crossover where Stiles has some inherited talents he's been keeping secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat To Remind Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roadsider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsider/gifts).



> giveaway fic! I created the Friends meme, so this fic was all sparked off from being given the title "The One With The Yeti" by one of the giveaway winners!
> 
> also a fill for trope bingo, trope: sharing a bed.
> 
> everyone is alive because it's fic and I make the rules.

Stiles wasn’t ever going to talk about it, not unless he really had to, but then came the whole werewolf thing, and he was sure at some point he was going to be put in a position where it would be revealed. Time went on, and somehow he made it through the worst of the violence and potential death without it ever coming to light.

Then came the yeti.

In fairness, Stiles never meant to get in the way of the yeti. He was quite happy to sit back and let the people with supernatural powers handle it, but none of them counted on the yeti having a thing for humans and hunting Stiles down. It ripped the door off the jeep, yanked him out and started thudding through the forest with all the werewolves chasing behind it.

At some point, the yeti lost interest in Stiles, paused in the forest, and dropped him to the ground. Which would’ve been fine, if it weren’t for the fact the yeti stood head and shoulders above the trees in the forest and Stiles ended up hitting each branch going down, landing on the ground with an ugly crack that he’s pretty sure was his neck breaking.

“Stiles? Stiles!” Scott’s crouching beside Stiles, hands hovering over Stiles’ body like he’s terrified to touch him, and Stiles can’t really blame him for that. “Stay still, are you, oh fuck.”

“I’ll be fine, Scotty,” Stiles says, coughing and feeling blood at the back of his throat. “Just, uh, give me a moment.”

“Give you a—are you _insane_? You’ve broken your neck, I heard it.”

“No, really.” Stiles takes care not to move his neck and looks around, wrinkling his nose when he spots the rest of the pack running towards him. “Oh shit.”

Derek skids to a stop, the first one to reach them, and he stands there glancing between Scott and Stiles. “What’s—is he hurt?”

“No, Derek, I hit each branch in a freaking forest and I’m totally fine,” Stiles says, wincing as his vertebrae fuse back together. “Okay, right, don’t freak out,” he says, looking at everyone surrounding him. Apparently no one listens to him, because as soon as he sits up, they all start yelling.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles tries to interrupt. “Guys? Guys, I’m fine. Guys. Hey,” he says, raising his voice until they finally stop talking over each other. “Maybe I have a few secrets I’ve been keeping.”

“Secrets?” Derek says, his eyes trained on Stiles, brow slightly furrowed and his hands clenching by his side.

Stiles never really appreciated how much Derek could look like a kicked puppy until that very moment. Distracted by the sting in his leg as his femur straightens out, Stiles slowly gets to his feet and leans against a tree. “My mom, she has these relatives, and she didn’t know if I’d inherit their powers, but—”

“Spit it out, Stiles,” Derek says impatiently.

“I can kind of heal myself. Sometimes.”

“What?” Erica stares at him, her claws still out and her eyes wide as she looks Stiles up and down.

“Echoing that,” Boyd says, frowning at Stiles, his arms crossed over his chest. “You can heal?”

“Not like you guys,” Stiles points out, waving his arm around. “It doesn’t work with small stuff, just if I’m in danger of dying. Also, shouldn’t someone be going after the yeti?”

“Isaac and Allison are on it,” Derek says dismissively. “Go back to where you can heal.”

“Dude, that’s all I know. Seriously. After my mom died, Aunt Morticia came to talk to me and that’s all she told me. I—I wanted to know why my mom couldn’t heal herself and she couldn’t give me an answer so I kind of—” Stiles stops talking, not wanting the pity he can feel radiating off everyone. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Scott says, glancing around at everyone before looking back at Stiles. “You’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine, really. Do they need help with the yeti?” The words are barely out of Stiles’ mouth before there’s a huge fireball flowing up to the sky and an unholy scream. “I guess not.” His body doesn’t feel quite right yet, so Stiles stays still, watching his friend’s faces. Derek’s still staring at him, his brow furrowed as if Stiles’ news changes his whole world, and Stiles doesn’t know what to make of that.

He’s never really put his healing to the test before, because what if Aunt Morticia had been wrong? What if he’d tried something and had ended up dead? She’d explained that it wouldn’t work on minor injuries, would only appear if he was in imminent threat of death, and Stiles could never risk leaving his dad alone just to see if it were true.

“Can you move?” Derek asks, interrupting Stiles’ thoughts.

“Almost.” Stiles wiggles his toes and experimentally crouches before straightening up. “I think I’m back to normal.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s not like I’ve done this before,” Stiles snaps, glaring at him. “How do you know when you’re healed?”

Derek shrugs. “It feels right.”

“Okay, well I feel right.”

After taking a few steps forward, Stiles feels a strange rush through his body, leaving him with a slight tingling in the tips of his fingers. “Woah,” he gasps, reaching out and instinctively holding onto Derek’s arm.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing, I just—that felt really strange.” Stiles shakes his head, not letting go of his grip on Derek’s forearm. “I’m fine. Allison and Isaac on their way back?”

“Yeah,” Boyd says, head tilted in the direction of the flames. “I can hear them.”

Allison and Isaac come bursting through the trees, trails of smoke following them, soot smeared on their faces and clothes. “What’s going on?” Allison asks, pausing and looking at them. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

“Stiles can _heal_ ,” Scott says.

“Excuse me?”

“He can heal.”

Allison looks over at Stiles, her eyebrows raised. “What?”

“It’s a family thing,” Stiles huffs, dropping his hand from Derek’s arm. “Can we go now?”

“I’m coming home with you,” Derek says, a look on his face that says it’ll be useless for Stiles to try and argue with him.

“Fine,” Stiles grits out, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go.”

*

Derek takes the keys from Stiles’ hand as soon as they step out of the woods and, no matter how much Stiles protests, Derek won’t give them back. Glaring at him over the hood of the jeep, Stiles huffs when Derek ignores him and climbs into the drivers seat.

“Get in, Stiles.”

“You do know I’m totally fine, right?”

“I’m not taking that chance,” Derek says, starting the engine as soon as Stiles is in the jeep.

“I’m not going to the ER,” Stiles says, folding his arms over his chest and staring out the window.

“You don’t have to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach as they turn on to the main road back to town.

“I’ll know if something’s wrong with you.”

“So you’re—”

“Staying with you.”

Groaning, Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “Great. Just—great.”

“Your dad likes me,” Derek says grumpily, like Stiles has somehow offended him. “He won’t mind.”

“It’s not that, it’s—”

“He does know about this, right?” Derek asks, pulling the jeep over and staring at Stiles. “He knew about your mom?”

“Yeah, yes, he knows. My mom’s family is kind of... eccentric. It’d be hard to miss that there’s something odd about them.”

“Your family? Odd? I’m shocked and surprised.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, sticking his tongue out at Derek.

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “You don’t want him to know that you used it.”

“It’s one thing knowing that mom passed it on to me, but if he knows that I ended up almost dead today, I—” Stiles twists his fingers together and shrugs. “I don’t want him worrying.”

“I would’ve thought this would make him worry less.”

“It would, but mom—you know, I still don’t know why she couldn’t heal herself,” Stiles says, glancing at Derek. “I have a theory; that because it wasn’t immediately fatal it didn’t kick in, but I don’t _know_ , not for sure, and that scares me. I have this thing that’s a part of me and I know almost nothing about me, do you know how terrifying that is?”

“When I became alpha,” Derek says quietly after a moment, staring straight ahead at the empty road. “It’s not meant to happen like that. You’re meant to have time to prepare. I didn’t. The rush of power, it’s incredible. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I had no idea what to do with it.”

Stiles stares at Derek before reaching out and curling his hand over Derek’s where it’s resting on the wheel. “You’re doing a pretty good job now,” he says tentatively.

Derek snorts and looks at Stiles, a wry smile on his face. “I guess that’s something.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone tonight, are you?” Stiles asks, squeezing Derek’s hand once before letting go and settling back in the seat.

“Nope,” Derek says.

“Figured,” Stiles says, a small smile on his face as Derek starts the jeep back up.

*

“Derek’s staying here tonight, dad,” Stiles blurts out when they come through the door and he almost runs straight into his dad.

“Excuse me?”

“Derek. He’s staying here tonight.”

“Is there something you want to tell me, kid?” his dad asks, looking between Stiles and Derek. “Because you’re eighteen now, so—”

“Oh wow,” Stiles interrupts, his eyes widening at the implications. “I—that’s not—”

“My apartment building is being fumigated,” Derek says over Stiles’ spluttering. “Stiles offered.”

Stiles’ dad makes a face and looks Stiles up and down. “And the reason you have blood on you?”

“Uh.” Stiles looks down at himself and winces. “I had an accident?”

“With what?”

“Do you really need to know?” Stiles asks, shifting from foot to foot.

Stiles’ dad sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Is your apartment really being fumigated, Derek?”

“Uh, no?”

“Right. Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Derek says quickly. “Really, I just—” he glances over at Stiles. “Feel better staying here.”

Stiles is pretty sure his dad is going to call them out, but he just nods once before shrugging his jacket over his uniform. “I’m trusting you both here, get that? And, kid? Shower before you sit down anywhere, okay?”

“Got it,” Stiles says, he goes to hug his dad before realising he’s still covered in blood and he stops, stepping back to let him pass. “How long are you going to be at the station?”

“Long enough that you’ll be asleep by the time I come home,” his dad says pointedly.

“Right, totally. After dinner, I’ll get the blow up mattress from the closet and we’ll be going to bed—uh, beds. Separate beds. Not the same bed.”

His dad rolls his eyes and holds a hand up. “Stop talking while you’re ahead. See you later.”

Stiles watches his dad walk to the cruiser, Derek hovering so close behind him that when he turns around, Derek’s face is way too close for comfort. “Okay, dude, you have to back up or else I can’t close the door.”

“How’s your head?” Derek says before taking a step back, a frown on his face as he looks Stiles up and down.

“It’s fine,” Stiles shrugs off the question and pushes past Derek, heading towards the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever,” Derek says as he follows Stiles, leaning against the counter.

“Tofu surprise it is,” Stiles says, simply to see the look of thinly disguised disgust on Derek’s face. “Kidding, wolfman. Chicken nuggets?”

“You do know you almost died tonight, right?”

“So that means I can’t have chicken nuggets?” Stiles asks, slightly confused.

“That’s not—” Derek breaks off and sits at the table, looking up at Stiles. “Why are you okay with this?”

“I’m not okay with this,” Stiles says, tugging at his sleeves. “I should be dead, Derek, I know that. I’m trying really fucking hard not to think about it because I’m going to freak out, and if I freak out, I won’t stop. So can you—”

“Stop,” Derek interrupts, his chair scraping on the floor as he stands up. Grabbing Stiles’ wrist, he touches Stiles’ chin with his free hand. “Stiles, hey, Stiles, stop.”

“I—” Stiles breathes out and rubs two fingers against his forehead. “I’m not okay.”

“Good,” Derek says, loosening his grip on Stiles’ wrist.

“Good? You think it’s good that I’m not okay?”

“I’d be worried if you _were_ okay.” Derek squeezes Stiles’ wrist lightly before letting go; reaching up, he trails his fingers over the blood on Stiles’ neck. “You need to shower.”

“Are you going to lurk outside the bathroom to make sure I don’t die?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes at Derek, hiding a smile when Derek shifts uncomfortably.

“Not right outside,” Derek finally responds, and all Stiles can do is sigh.

*

In the shower, Stiles finds himself staring at the floor, watching the blood run off him and down the drain. It’s not the first time he’s had to wash blood off himself—he’s done that more times than he wishes to remember—but there’s never been so much of it. Stiles has never come so close to death before.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Stiles closes his eyes, ducking his head under the spray before reaching for his shampoo. Lathering it up in his hands, he scrapes his fingers through his hair, pressing down hard, trying to make sure that his skull is all back together. There’d been a crack, Stiles remembers wanting to vomit at the feel of it, and now there’s nothing there, not even a scar. He wonders if this is how Derek feels all the time.

The shampoo runs down his body, along with debris from the woods and blood; it creates a mess running down his legs and Stiles hops from one foot to the other, trying to avoid getting it stuck on his feet. Stepping back under the spray to rinse the foam off, Stiles hisses at a sudden pain on his leg. “What the—?”

“Stiles?” Derek calls, the door banging open. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are you in my bathroom?!” Stiles yells, resisting the urge to cover himself up behind the shower curtain.

“You made a noise.”

“I—there’s a cut on my leg or something, the shampoo got in it and it stung.”

“That’s it? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I swear.” Stiles looks down at himself to make sure he’s rinsed everything off, before he switches the water off. Standing there, dripping, he sighs and comes to a decision. “Uh, if you’re gonna be here, can you hand me a towel?” he asks, poking his hand out until he feels Derek’s fingers brushing against his own.

“Do you want me to go?” Derek asks as Stiles takes the towel.

Stiles wraps the towel around his waist and tries to control his thudding heart, all too aware that Derek is able to hear it; he doesn’t even want to know what Derek’s thinking right now. “No,” he says, voice steadier than he thought it would be. “You’ve got to shower as well, right?” Pulling the curtain back, Stiles steps out of the tub and tries not to blink when he notices how close he is to Derek. “I, uh, I’ll get out of your way.”

“Wait,” Derek says, his voice hoarse as he touches Stiles’ shoulder. “Your leg.”

“I should get changed first,” Stiles says, his hand tightening on his towel. “You don’t have to—”

“Just turn around,” Derek says impatiently. He sinks to his knees and Stiles gulps, widening his eyes at the sight of Derek looking up at him. Willing his cock to not turn his towel into a tent, Stiles turns around, a shiver running down his spine when Derek’s fingers brush against the back of his thigh.

“Is it bad?” Stiles asks as Derek pushes the towel up, fingertips grazing the back of Stiles’ knee.

“Nothing a band aid can’t fix,” Derek responds, his thumb rubbing around the cut. “Hold on, I’m just going to dry it first.” There’s a rummaging noise behind Stiles and then Derek’s back on the floor, dabbing the edge of a towel against Stiles’ skin before pressing a band aid on. “It really doesn’t fix up minor injuries, then?”

“I guess not,” Stiles says, turning around and meeting Derek’s eyes, offering him a small smile. “You can use the towel on the hook, I think I still have some clothes that belong to you.”

“I won’t be long,” Derek says, already starting to undress and Stiles—he has to get out of there, he really does.

“Take your time,” he says, voice slightly strangled as he yanks the door closed behind him and heads towards his bedroom.

Stiles flops on the bed and pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes, not letting out a groan for fear Derek will hear him and get suspicious about what he’s doing. His cock is half hard underneath the towel and he tries his best to ignore it, because if he doesn’t, it’s going to become a situation. A situation that can only end with Stiles embarrassing himself in front of Derek, and he’s has had enough of that for one lifetime.

Getting up, Stiles rummages around in his drawers until he’s found the sweatpants and hoodie Derek left here last time; dropping them on his desk, he’s struck with the realisation that Derek will be in his room, naked, _again_. Ever since Derek went full wolf, he’s been naked a lot, sometimes in Stiles’ room, and it keeps doing things to Stiles. Things he doesn’t want to think about too much. Shaking his head, Stiles hurriedly gets changed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and wondering where Aunt Mortica’s phone number is.

“Derek?” he says as he passes the bathroom. “I’m going downstairs, come join me when you’re done.” There’s a grunt of acknowledgement and then Stiles carries on down the stairs.

Sitting at his dad’s desk, Stiles pulls open the top drawer and feels around for his the address book. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, opening it up. “And of course this isn’t in alphabetical order,” he sighs. “Aunt Morticia and Uncle Gomez, where are you?” Running a finger down the page, Stiles flips impatiently through the notebook until he catches a glimpse of Morticia’s name.

Grabbing the house phone, Stiles taps in the number and waits until someone picks up. “Uh, is Morticia Addams there?” he asks when no one talks. “It’s her nephew.”

There’s silence, and Stiles is about to hang up when his aunt’s voice comes down the line. “Stiles? Sweetheart, is that you? What’s wrong?”

“How did you—”

“A mother always knows,” she says. “What happened?”

“I—what you talked to me about after my mom died? It, uh, it happened.” Stiles fiddles with the address book, curling the edge of the page up and hoping she doesn’t ask for details, because he doesn’t think he can talk about it yet.

“Does this involve the Hale boy?”

“How do you know about the Hales?”

“Our world is very small, Stiles. Gomez and I would have dinner with them when we came to visit your mother.”

“Our world, you mean—”

“Supernatural phenomena, yes.”

“Huh.”

“Are you okay, Stiles? What happened to you?”

“There was a yeti in the woods and I got dropped through a tree.”

“I see.”

Stiles sighs and rubs his fingers against his forehead. “I broke my neck, my leg, and I cracked my skull, but I recovered. I—do I have to worry about any of it coming back?”

“No, not at all. Does the Hale boy not know about this?”

Stiles frowns, standing up when he hears Derek thudding down the stairs. “Should he?”

“The Hales were quite aware of our status, I’m surprised they didn’t tell their son.”

“Derek, he—they died when he was a teenager.”

“Oh I know,” Morticia says. “I talk to Talia quite often.”

“You, uh, okay?”

“Stiles, I think you and Derek should come and visit us. Next weekend. It’ll be good for you both.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“Nonsense,” Morticia says. “With Wednesday and Pugsley having moved away and Pubert at college, the house has been quite empty. We’ll be glad of the company.”

Stiles shrugs and sits back down in the chair by his dad’s desk. “Okay, I guess I’ll call you when we’re on our way?”

“Will you be sharing a room?”

“Um,” Stiles blushes, his face heating up. “Can I let you know?”

“Of course, Stiles,” Morticia says, a smile in her voice. “We’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Stiles says his goodbyes and hangs up. He scribbles her phone number down on another piece of paper, stuffs it in his pocket, and puts his father’s address book away. Taking a deep breath, he walks out of the study and through to the kitchen where he finds Derek sitting at the table, his hair dripping and leaving wet patches on his hoodie.

“Hey,” Stiles says, sitting down opposite him. “You hungry?”

“Depends, are you going to offer me something other than nuggets?”

Kicking his foot out at Derek, Stiles laughs when Derek smiles at him. “I don’t know, I think there’s a pizza in the freezer? Or we could go to bed?”

Before Stiles realises what he’s implied, Derek’s eyebrows raise and his mouth drops open. “Bed?”

“I didn’t—unless—” Stiles breaks off in frustration, waving a hand in the air. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Derek.”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, his hands splayed out on the table, eyes avoiding Stiles. “When you fell, when I thought you—I was worried.”

“Because I’m pack.”

“Because you’re _you_.”

“Oh.” There’s a low chuckle and when Stiles looks over at Derek, Derek looks up, meeting his eyes. “So you care about me.”

“Stiles I—you’re going to be at college. I don’t want you to—”

“Don’t,” Stiles interrupts, glaring at Derek. “Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do when it comes to you. I should’ve died today. I think that means I can make my own decisions.”

“I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Do you think you could? Derek, I—” Stiles rubs his fingers on the table, tucking his legs under his chair. “I like you, okay? More than like. But I’m not going to let you, or anyone else, get in the way of what I want to do. I figure if we made it this far then we could, I don’t know, make it further?”

“Eloquent.”

“Shut up.”

Derek grins in response, a full smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides, and Stiles is never going to get used to how different he looks when he does that. Derek’s not as broody as he used to be, but he still doesn’t dish out smiles that easily and it changes his whole goddamn face. Stiles impulsively reaches over and grabs Derek’s hand, holding it tightly; Derek startles, but he doesn’t try and move away.

“So,” Stiles says, feeling his skin heat up. “You planning on keeping me company tonight?”

“Did you get the blow up mattress out?”

“No. I’m not going to.” The tips of Derek’s ears go pink and Stiles suddenly fears he’s made the wrong choice. “Unless you don’t—did I read this wrong?” he asks quickly, words falling over themselves.

“You didn’t read it wrong,” Derek says, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “We—lets go to bed. I’ll take you out for breakfast.”

“Pancakes?”

“Sure,” Derek says, smiling tentatively at him from across the table. “If that’s what you want.”

*

When they reach his room, Stiles strips off his shirt and climbs onto his bed, his body aching from the trials of the day. “Ugh, no one told me I’d have aches after healing,” he mumbles into his pillow. There’s a dip in the bed and then Derek’s hand is on Stiles’ bare back, and Stiles feels a warmth spreading over his skin. “What’re you—oh.” Stiles turns his head and looks at Derek, watches the dark lines flowing up Derek’s arm. “You don’t have to do that.”

“You’re hurting.”

“It’s only some soreness,” Stiles protests. “You can stop now.” Derek removes his hand and Stiles watches him as he slowly lies down on the bed, as if he thinks at any moment Stiles is going to change his mind and tell him to leave. “Hi,” Stiles says when Derek’s finally settled. “So, my Aunt Morticia says she knew your family, and that you should come with me to visit them next week.”

“Where do they live?”

“LA. In the hills somewhere.”

Derek hums, shuffling closer until they’re so close Stiles could count every one of Derek’s eyelashes if he wanted. “What will your dad think?”

“Is there something he should be thinking about?” Stiles asks, inclining his head towards Derek’s until their foreheads are touching. “I mean, is—” his words are cut off by Derek’s mouth on his and Stiles doesn’t even get a chance to kiss back before it’s over. “Oh,” Stiles says, not taking his eyes off Derek. “So—”

“So go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“But—you kissed me?”

“Is that a question?”

“If it is will you do it again?” Stiles asks, raising an eyebrow at Derek. “What was that, Derek? Why did you—”

“I wanted to do it,” Derek says quickly.

“Okay.”

Derek sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t get what I want, Stiles. It’s kind of a pattern in my life. But I—” Derek stops talking and looks over at Stiles, his brow furrowed, looking more uncertain than Stiles has ever seen him look before. “You almost _died_ , Stiles.”

“I’ve almost died a lot of times.”

“But this time, if you didn’t have whatever this healing thing is, you would’ve died. You would’ve died and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.”

Stiles goes quiet, his hand seeking out Derek’s, and he tangles their fingers together, squeezing before letting go. Derek’s still watching him and Stiles turns on his side, shuffling a little closer until he can rest his chin on Derek’s chest. “I get it,” he says quietly. “Our lives aren’t exactly normal. I think... I think that if we have a chance to be happy—if any of us have the chance—then we should take it.”

“So you want to—”

“Date? Make out? Have awkward dinners with my dad?”

“Yeah,” Derek says with a low chuckle. “That.”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. But you’re explaining why we’re road tripping to LA together to your dad.”

Stiles sighs and turns his head, resting his cheek against Derek’s chest. “I guess that’s acceptable,” he says, fiddling with the zipper on Derek’s hoodie. “You’re still staying tonight, right?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

“Then I’m staying.”

*

Stiles isn’t sure when he drifted off, but when he wakes up, his face is smooshed against Derek’s shoulder and he’s drooling. “Good look, Stilinski,” he mutters to himself, sitting up and scraping his hand through his hair. Looking back at Derek, Stiles wipes his mouth, hoping that spit hasn’t dried on his chin, and takes in how peaceful Derek looks. His lips are parted, head turned to where Stiles was sleeping, and after a moment Derek shifts, frowning in his sleep.

A rap on the door makes Stiles jump and he almost falls off the bed. “Uh, yeah?” he calls out, wincing when he realises he’s probably woken Derek up.

“Kid, you awake?”

“Yep, pops, definitely awake and up and—”

“Derek still here?” his dad interrupts, right at the moment Derek’s eyes open.

“Um, yes,” Stiles says, ignoring the way Derek’s eyes widen when Stiles speaks.

“Breakfast in fifteen.”

“We’ll be there!”

Stiles pauses, waiting for his dad to traipse down the stairs, before he leans over and kisses Derek. It takes Derek a second, but then he’s kissing back, his hands coming up to grasp at Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him down. Stiles breaks away, breathing heavily; there’s a sheen of spit over Derek’s mouth and it’s taking all Stiles has to not start kissing him again.

“Uh, breakfast,” Stiles manages to get out, his arms braced against the bed, wobbling slightly when Derek’s fingers scratch at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes out, not looking away from Stiles. “We should probably—”

“Before my dad—fuck it.” Stiles clambers on top of Derek, blankets tangling around their legs, but he doesn’t care because he’s got Derek underneath him, kissing him leisurely like they’ve got all the time in the world; kissing him as if there’s no chance Stiles’ dad will come barging in when he realises they’re taking way too long to get ready.

Derek’s fingers are running through Stiles’ hair, tugging at it, and Stiles moans a little louder than he probably should. Swiping his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip, Stiles pushes himself up and off the bed, stumbling when his foot gets caught in the blankets.

“We really should go downstairs,” Stiles says, his eyes flickering over the expanse of Derek’s chest he can see where the hoodie has come undone.

“You sure this time?” Derek asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at Stiles.

“Asshole,” Stiles responds. “You’re all warm and soft and in my bed.”

Derek gets off the bed and looks Stiles over, his eyes narrowing. “Are those things we shouldn’t tell your dad?” Derek sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his jawline tensing. “Am I a secret?”

Stiles’ heart sinks into his stomach at the tone of Derek’s voice; the look on Derek’s face makes Stiles want to hire a loudhailer and tell everyone they’re dating . “No,” he says, voice holding steady. “You’re not a secret.” Tugging on Derek’s arm, Stiles drags down the stairs and into the kitchen where his dad is poking at a pack of turkey bacon. “Dad? Derek and I are a thing.”

The packet of bacon drops to the floor with a splat and, okay, maybe Stiles could’ve done this a little better.

“A thing?” his dad asks, staring at them. “That’s what you’ve got for me?”

“A dating thing?” Stiles tries, picking up the bacon and squinting at his dad as he hands the bacon over. “Is that better?”

“So you’re dating the man who spent all night in your room?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d overlook that? And we weren’t dating then.”

“We weren’t?” Derek asks, looking at Stiles bemusedly.

“We kissed _once_ before we went to sleep.”

“Twice.”

“Not helping the current situation!” Stiles’ voices goes higher than he’d like it to, his grip on Derek’s arm getting tighter. Taking a deep breath and loosening his grip on Derek, Stiles looks at his dad and bites his lip. “I’m sorry?”

Shaking his head, Stiles’ dad resumes his position at the stove. “Don’t apologise for how you feel, Stiles.” Glancing at them, he raises an eyebrow. “I am right in assuming there are feelings?”

“Can we not talk about this in that amount of detail?” Stiles asks, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for Derek to join him.

“You’re the one that stormed down the stairs and announced we were dating,” Derek says mildly, sitting down and resting his hand on Stiles’ thigh.

“I take it back,” Stiles says, pouting and leaning back in his chair. “Totally taking this whole thing back, I regret saying anything.”

“Lies,” Derek whispers, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

“So, dad, I think I’m going to head down to LA next weekend with Derek and visit Aunt Morticia,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s hand and holding on. “Is that okay?”

“You don’t have to ask to visit your mom’s family, Stiles, you know that. Don’t let Morticia drag you into anything weird.”

“Weirder than what I get up to in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles’ dad laughs and brings the plate of bacon over to the table. “Just try not to start a supernatural war.”

“As if I would,” Stiles says, reaching for a piece. “It’ll be a nice, peaceful, family weekend,” he ends, punctuating it with a bite of bacon.

*

When they pull up outside the gates to the Addams mansion, Stiles looks over at Derek and smiles, tapping his fingers along the dashboard. “Too weird for you?”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow in response. “This place is... interesting.”

“And you haven’t even been inside yet,” Stiles says, shooting him a smirk. “Come on, the gate’s opening.”

“Why do I feel like it’s going to crush my car?”

“I’m a blood relation, that’s not going to happen,” Stiles says blithely. “Just park up there by the hearse.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Stiles twists around and stares at Derek, kind of amused at how Derek’s reacting. It’s not like he doesn’t know his family is seriously strange, but Derek’s a _werewolf_. “Why is this freaking you out so much? You get hairy and run around on full moons.”

“We lived like humans, Stiles. We didn’t have a hearse in our garage, and we didn’t have a sentient gate.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, reaching over and touching Derek’s cheek, his fingers rubbing against Derek’s stubble. “The Addams side of my family is kind of weird, which you probably got from my whole healing thing, but we’re still a regular family. Aunt Morticia loved my mom, she loves me, and you’ll get to witness how much she loves Uncle Gomez, trust me.” Patting Derek on the cheek, Stiles sits back and looks up at the house. “So, can we go in?”

“Yeah.”

They walk up to the door, bags slung over their shoulders, and Stiles takes a breath and glances at Derek. “Last chance to back out.”

“Just knock on the door,” Derek responds, elbowing Stiles in the side.

There’s a scrabbling noise behind the door that faintly alarms Stiles, but then it swings open and the familiar smell of Morticia and Grandmama’s spells and potions fill his senses. “Hello? Anyone here?”

“Did the door open by itself?” Derek asks, peering inside cautiously.

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugs and steps over the threshold. “Come on, we should find Aunt Morticia.”

The mansion is the same as Stiles dimly recalls from when he was a child with his mom; they hadn’t visited much, but the house left an indelible mark on Stiles. Houses with suits of armour that move will do that to a five year old. Stiles salutes the one that turns towards him and tugs on Derek’s arm when he stops to stare. “I think she’s in the greenhouse,” Stiles says once Derek’s keeping pace with him. “Which is around here, ah! Aunt Morticia!”

It’s not that Stiles runs to hug his aunt, but he’s missed her so much, and she’s the only person who even mentioned his mom to him after she died. Luckily for Stiles, Morticia drops the pruning shears before he reaches her, avoiding any nasty stabbing injuries.

“Stiles, it’s so very good to see you again,” Morticia says, holding him by the shoulders and smiling at him. “You’ve grown up into quite an attractive young man.”

“You haven’t seen me since I was nine, Aunt Morticia, I’d hope I’ve grown since then,” Stiles says, taking a step back and reaching for Derek. “This is Derek.”

“Of course.” Morticia touches Derek’s shoulder. “You look so much like your mother.”

“I—thank you,” Derek says quietly, his hand finding Stiles’ wrist and holding on tight.

“She was a wonderful woman. I speak to her quite often. She’s very proud of you.” Morticia turns around and picks up the discarded rose heads to drop them in the trash.

Stiles tangles his fingers with Derek’s and leans in. “I should’ve told you,” he whispers. “Sorry.”

Derek shakes his head, kissing Stiles on the temple. “It’s okay.”

“Oh,” Morticia says, turning back to them and frowning slightly. “Should I not have mentioned that?”

“No,” Derek says quickly. “It’s... good to hear.”

Morticia nods, looking behind Stiles. “Lurch, excellent. Take the boys to the suite in the tower, would you?”

*

Stiles bounces on the bed, watching Derek watch Lurch put their bags down. “Thanks Lurch,” he calls as the door closes. “Still sure this isn’t too weird for you?” he asks Derek.

“The butler looks like Frankenstein's monster,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow as he walks towards the bed.

“Oooh, you even got the reference right,” Stiles says, kneeling on the bed and reaching for Derek. “That’s kind of hot. Don’t let him hear you say that, though. He’s very sensitive about it.”

“Really?” Derek curls his arms around Stiles and leans in, his mouth brushing over Stiles’ lips.

“Uh huh. Also, at some point you’re going to meet Thing and, well, how are you with a disembodied hand?”

“Your aunt talks to my mother,” Derek says, rubbing their noses together. “I can deal with a disembodied hand.”

Stiles closes the gap between them and kisses Derek, his hands sliding through Derek’s hair, wanting to get as close as he possibly can; wanting to show his appreciation for Derek being so accepting of his bizzaro family. It works really well until Stiles loses his balance, falling back on the bed, dragging Derek with him, both of them landing in a tangle of limbs. “Ow,” Stiles groans. “I think your knee is in my spleen.”

“You kneed me in the crotch,” Derek says, his voice strained and his face resting against Stiles’ neck.

“Okay,” Stiles says, petting Derek’s hair. “You win.”

“I really don’t.”

Laughing, Stiles strokes a hand in circles on Derek’s back, enjoying the way the weight of Derek on him makes him feel safe and secure. “You’re okay being here? Like, really?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. It’s important to you,” Derek says, his lips brushing over Stiles’ neck as he talks. “You deserve to know more about what happens to you. Everyone should get that chance.”

“I’m sorry you never got that chance,” Stiles says, his fingers dancing over the sliver of bare skin above Derek’s waistband If my aunt can—”

“Yes,” Derek interrupts. “I’d want to talk to my mom again but, Stiles, this trip isn’t about me.”

“Stop being so selfless,” Stiles says, pinching Derek. “If I get to learn about my weird family, then you get to learn about yours. That came out wrong.”

“My mom could turn into a wolf,” Derek says, lifting his head up to smirk at Stiles. “I think we’re pretty equal on the weird scale.”

“True,” Stiles says, smiling when Derek moves until they’re kissing again. It’s lazy, soft and warm; Derek’s treating him like he’s delicate, and Stiles could protest, but he likes it, likes knowing that Derek thinks of him as something to be careful with. He’s sliding a hand underneath Derek’s shirt when a bell above the bed rings. Shifting a little, his mouth resting against Derek’s cheek, Stiles sighs. “Uh, I think that means dinner is ready,” he says, rubbing his hand against Derek’s heated skin. “Time for you to meet Uncle Gomez. You know, you’re lucky my cousins aren’t here, Wednesday would probably want to cut you open.”

“Excuse me?”

“She has a thing about cryptozoology.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“Probably safer that way,” Stiles says, smiling and pushing slightly at Derek’s shoulder. “Food time, get a move on. The food might look weird, and Grandmama will try and freak you out, but it’s all totally fine. She just likes to make things smokey.”

*

Aside from Gomez teasing Derek with a plastic eyeball in his soup, dinner went better than Stiles expected. He’s not convinced that his family toned down their weirdness for Derek, but Stiles is well aware it could’ve been worse. No one pretended Thing was a main course, anyway. 

“Cigar, Derek?” Gomez leans over, the open humidor in his hands. “Cuban.”

“Uh, no thank you.”

Stiles shifts on the couch, looking around at the library of books surrounding him. “So, Aunt Morticia, are there any side effects? Like, now that I’ve healed myself once, I can’t do it again?”

“Why on earth would you think that?” Morticia puts down her goblet of wine and rests her hands on her lap. “You’re an Addams, your blood is like my blood, you will _always_ heal when you need to.”

“But my mom—”

“There is a natural order to things,” Morticia says sadly. “Claudia was taken from all of us too soon, but it was the natural order. If she had been hit by a car, or something similar, she would’ve healed.” Reaching over, she takes Stiles’ hand. “If she could’ve healed herself, Stiles, she would’ve done it in an instant. She never wanted to leave you.”

“Then when it’s my time—”

“It won’t be your time for many, many years yet. Grandmama told me.”

“That’s... reassuring I guess.”

The corners of Morticia’s lips peek up slightly before she settles back in her chair. “I’ve had Lurch leave some books in your room that I think may help you with this.”

“Thank you, really. I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t help me.”

“We’re your family, Stiles. Especially now that you’re aware of the world we inhabit, and of course, you’re dating a werewolf. You know, Derek, you really must come and visit during a full moon. Fester comes and I think you’d have a wonderful time howling with him.”

Stiles stifles a laugh when he catches the look on Derek’s face and pats him on the knee. “When is Fester going to be here?” he asks his aunt.

“He’s currently visiting the Bermuda Triangle again, you know how he loves it so.”

“Didn’t he get lost last time?”

“Oh no dear, he’s been back three times since then and always finds his way home.”

“You have a relative who visits the Bermuda Triangle for fun?” Derek asks, tipping his head back to look at Stiles.

“You have _Peter_ ,” Stiles says, raising his eyebrows at Derek. “You really want to go down this road?”

“I’d like to send Peter to the Bermuda Triangle and see if he makes it out,” Derek says, curling an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and tugging him closer.

“I’ll chip in for airfare,” Stiles says, resting his hand on Derek’s chest, fingers grazing over Derek’s nipples teasingly. We could let Lydia kick him out of the plane, make it a pack affair.”

Derek laughs, catching Stiles’ hand and bringing it up to his mouth, placing a kiss against Stiles’ fingers. “Sounds good to me.”

“Gomez,” Morticia says, looking over at her husband. “Don’t they remind you of us? The first time we talked about chains.”

Stiles tears his gaze away from Derek and stares at his aunt. “Chains?”

“There’s a set in your room, if you’d like to try them out,” Morticia says as Gomez kisses a pattern up her arm. “They may even be strong enough to hold Derek, but I don’t think anyone has ever tried them on a werewolf.”

“In our—okay! I think Derek and I are going to go to bed.”

“Don’t worry about making noise, dear,” Morticia calls as Stiles and Derek make their way out of the room. “The house is so quiet when people aren’t screaming.”

Stiles holds on to Derek’s hand as they make their way up the staircase. “I’m going to assume you don’t want to be chained up?” he says when they reach the bedroom.

“I think I’ll pass on that,” Derek says, making a face at Stiles as he pushes the door open.

“So vanilla,” Stiles teases, kissing Derek on the cheek as they head into the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he kicks his shoes off and looks up at Derek.

“Hey!” Derek protests, joining Stiles on the bed and kissing him softly. “How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t,” Stiles says, trailing a hand up Derek’s thigh, fingers stroking along Derek’s inseam. “That’s my point,” Stiles says, having to bite back a gasp when Derek drags his mouth along Stiles’ skin, his teeth grazing against Stiles’ neck.

“Take your shirt off,” Derek says, kissing the hollow of Stiles’ throat before leaning back. “Get on the bed.”

“I’m _on_ the bed,” Stiles says, stripping his shirt off and dropping it on the floor.

“Jesus, Stiles, slide up the bed, okay?” Dere huffs, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “I’m gonna get a neck crick like this.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You take your shirt off,” he grumbles as he moves up the bed. “Also, how would you get a neck crick? You’re a werewolf.”

“I’m about to jerk you off and you’re giving me attitude?”

“You—” Stiles cuts himself off and stares at Derek, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

“Unless you don’t want that.”

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles says, folding his arms over his chest. “And you still don’t have your shirt off.”

Derek makes a face at him as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, and Stiles has never felt more impatient in his life. He’s sure Derek’s doing it on purpose; no one takes this much time to undo buttons. His train of thought is cut off suddenly by Derek’s hand on his crotch squeezing lightly.

“Okay?” Derek asks, locking eyes with Stiles, not making any movements.

“Are you kidding me? Yes, Derek, fuck.” The words are barely out of his mouth before Derek’s unzipping Stiles’ fly and dragging his knuckles over the bulge in Stiles’ boxers. “I— _yeah_.”

“Not even going to get you naked,” Derek says contemplatively as his fingers slide in the top of Stiles’ boxers, pulling the waistband down. “Just going to jerk you off right here.”

Stiles groans at Derek’s words, shifting on the bed as Derek manages to get his hand around his cock; Stiles pushes up into Derek’s grip, his hands curling in the sheets and holding on tightly. “Derek, c’mon, get—” Stiles’ voice fades away as Derek starts to stroke him, Stiles’ precome easing the way.

“Kiss me,” Stiles says as Derek keeps working him. For a moment he thinks he said it too quietly, but then Derek’s mouth is on his and Stiles can’t tell what he’s enjoying more; Derek’s hot hand wrapped around his cock, teasing him so sweetly, or the way Derek’s kissing him like he needs it to survive.

The skin on skin sound fills the room and Stiles whines, desperate with the need to come. Biting down on Derek’s bottom lip, Stiles grips Derek’s arm, seeking an anchor as he comes, splattering all over his stomach and Derek’s hand. “Fuck,” he gasps, sinking back against the bed, his eyes half closed. Derek hums a little, and when Stiles looks at him, Derek’s bringing his hand to his mouth, licking Stiles’ come off his hand. Stiles’ cock twitches in a valiant attempt to get hard again. “What’re you—”

“Not so vanilla now, right?” Derek teases, winking at Stiles.

“You have hidden depths,” Stiles says, his hand running over the wrinkled sheets. “We should explore those.”

“Later,” Derek says, picking up his shirt and wiping off Stiles’ stomach before discarding it. “Sleep. We’ll look at the books your aunt left tomorrow.”

After getting undressed, Stiles rummages around in his bag for a pair of pj pants. Pulling them on, he sits on the edge of the bed and watches Derek get changed. “You don’t want me to—I mean, I can—”

“I’m good,” Derek assures him, climbing onto the bed in his boxers. “You can make it up to me tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Stiles asks, lying down next to Derek, kicking at the blankets when his legs get tangled in them. He fights with them for a moment before pouting at Derek, smiling smugly when Derek huffs and reaches down to fix the blankets. It’s not cold in the tower, but Stiles cuddles up to Derek, enjoying being close to him.

“I’m sure,” Derek says, tilting Stiles’ chin with his hand until he can kiss him softly. Stiles chases the kiss, whining when Derek moves away. “C’mon, sleep.”

“Thanks for coming with me,” Stiles says as he rolls on his back to switch the bedside light off. Curling back up with Derek, Stiles splays a hand out on Derek’s chest, his fingertips brushing over Derek’s chest hair. “I know it was asking a lot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles,” Derek says, trailing his fingers up and down Stiles’ arm. “Even if we weren’t what we are now, I’d still want to be here for you.”

“Isn’t it weird? That my aunt knew your mom? That she still talks to her?”

“Talking to the dead is always going to be weird to me,” Derek says wryly. “But that’s got nothing to do with why I’m here.”

Stiles pauses, his hand stilling on Derek’s chest. “You’re here for me,” he says finally.

“Will I sound like Erica if I say ‘duh’?”

“I don’t know, do it again.”

“Stiles.”

Smiling, Stiles wriggles a little, kissing what of Derek he can reach. “Goodnight, Derek.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

There’s quiet for a few minutes before an almighty howl echoes through the mansion.

“Sounds like Morticia’s having fun,” Derek mumbles.

“Oh my God, Derek, don’t say that.”

*

Stiles spends most of the next day reading through the family books and making notes. Aside from the occasional roar from the bearskin on the floor, the Addams library is peaceful, and Stiles finds himself drifting off in the chair.

He wakes up to Derek putting a steaming mug on the desk. Dislodging the book on his lap, Stiles stretches his arms over his head and smiles at Derek. “Hi, where have you been?”

“With Morticia and your Grandmother. She made that for you.”

Sniffing the drink, Stiles sighs happily when the scent of cinnamon and chocolate hits his senses. “My favourite, Grandmama remembered.” Wrapping his hands around it, Stiles sits back in his chair and eyes Derek. “What were you guys doing?”

“Talking,” Derek says, sitting on the floor by Stiles’ chair and leaning his head against Stiles’ knee. “About my family.”

Instinctively, Stiles drops a hand onto Derek’s head, fingers running through Derek’s hair. “That’s good,” Stiles says quietly. “Did it help?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, curling a hand around Stiles’ shin. “She gave me a journal my mom left with her. Told me some things that my mom told her.”

“Sounds like this trip has been good for both of us.”

“Find anything interesting in the books?”

“Yeah, yeah I did. Apparently my blood can be used in potions.”

“Your—what?”

“My blood,” Stiles says, lifting his hand off Derek’s head. “It can be used in potions.”

“Okay we’re never doing that,” Derek says firmly, squeezing Stiles’ leg.

“That’s very over protective.”

“Call it not wanting to see you bleed any more than I have to.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh, sipping at his drink. “We’re going to have to leave soon, aren’t we?”

“Long drive,” Derek says, looking up at Stiles. “We could stop off at a motel if you want.”

“I kind of want to stay,” Stiles says. “I just—I feel like there’s more for me to learn here.”

“Your aunt said you can keep the books.”

“She said what?” Stiles exclaims, almost spilling his drink in his excitement.

“You can keep the books, she told me to tell you.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, sinking back into his chair. “That’s so cool.”

Standing up, Derek leans down and kisses Stiles on the forehead. “I’ll go and pack our stuff. You stay with the books. Morticia said she’ll make us something before we go.”

Stiles nods at Derek, watching him leave the library. Reaching over, Stiles starts to close up the books, tearing pieces off his notebook to mark his place in some of them. Draining the last of his drink, Stiles puts his mug down and walks around the library. Running his fingers along the spines of the books, Stiles resists taking any of the off the shelves; childhood memories of being blasted in the face with wind still looming large. He never did ask his aunt how to open the books without that happening.

“Hey.”

Stiles turns around at the sound of Derek’s voice. “Everything packed up?”

“Yeah.” Derek walks over, wrapping his arms around Stiles from behind. “You done here?”

“After you carry the books to the car, then yeah.” Covering Derek’s hands with his own, Stiles leans back against him. “I want to come back.”

“We will. Morticia said we could bring the pack, she’ll tell your cousins so they can be here.”

“I’m not sure I want Erica and Wednesday in the same room.”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Stiles sighs and takes one last look around the library, smiling at the family portrait of his mom and Morticia that’s hanging in one of the nooks above a couch. “We should go.”

“You ready?”

“No,” Stiles answers truthfully, turning around in Derek’s arms. “But we’re coming back.”

“Whenever you want.”

“It’s weird.”

“A lot about this has been weird,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I think I have a yeti to thank for all of this,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose. “Which isn’t something I ever thought I’d have to say.”

“You think that’s weirder than you being able to heal yourself?”

“You can heal yourself.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek says, unravelling himself from Stiles and heading over to the table, picking up the books. “It’s expected.”

“Well I’m a—thing. I’m something.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Stiles smirks at him, picking up his notebook and mug. “I’m special. You think so.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, kissing Stiles quickly. “I do.”

“That’s—you’re not meant to be _nice_ when we’re bickering,” Stiles groans, following Derek out of the library. “It throws me off.”

“I know.”

“You do it on purpose, don’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Derek asks, putting the books on the ground near their bags by the door.

“You’re a terrible boyfriend, I don’t know why I like you.”

“Uh huh,” Derek says, crowding Stiles against the wall. “Really?”

“Yep,” Stiles breathes out, licking his lips and trying to ignore all the blood rushing to his crotch. “The worst.”

“How about we stop off at a motel on the way home and I see if I can’t change your mind?”

Stiles is about to answer—or make out with Derek, he can’t decide—when he suddenly hears his aunt.

“Oh Gomez, they’re just like us.”

Stiles isn’t prepared for the way Derek fucking _beams_ at that, smile practically taking over his whole face. Patting Derek on his side, Stiles waits for him to move away before walking over to his aunt and uncle. “Thank you for everything,” he says, moving in and hugging Morticia. “Thank you for the books.”

“You’re family, Stiles. It’s only right you get to keep some of what is rightfully yours. You know, you’re so much like Claudia. Her spirit follows you. Take care of your wolf.”

Ducking his head, a flush spreading on his cheeks, Stiles glances at Derek. “I will. If he’ll let me.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will,” Gomez says, clasping Stiles on the shoulder. “Your family is a wonderful one, we who marry into it are lucky.”

Lurch carries their things out to the car as Stiles and Derek say their goodbyes. When they get in the car, Stiles leans over and kisses Derek, one hand curling around the back of Derek’s neck. “Okay,” he says when he pulls away, satisfied with the way Derek’s lips are wet and the tips of his ears are turning red. “Now we can go.”

“Definitely finding a motel,” Derek mutters under his breath.

Stiles grins, looking at the reflection of the mansion in the side view mirror. If he squints, he can see Gomez dipping Morticia and kissing her. Stiles is pretty sure turning out like them wouldn’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com).


End file.
